HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Brussels Post, 1895-5-31, Page 2LADY AYLMER.
CHAPTER, Y. (Comer/ p,)
diarbara followed her to the door and
watched her out into the street, and truly,
tie she had epid, her young mistress wae
looking very bonny that day, On her fair
Bair, loosely Arranged yet not untidy -look -
Ing, she hada small straw bonnet trimmed
with ribbon and a cluster of gloire de Dijon
roses, Over her pretty blue cotton gown
she wore a long duet•oloak of some thin
and light.toned material. She also were
tan r lored shoes and Suede gloves of about
the same tone,' and she carried a large,
white, cotton parasol to shield her from
the eon,
It wee a very simple and cheap toilette,
but it was fresh mad daintylooking, and
Dorothy looked bright and lovable and a
little lady from the crown of her bonnet to
the tips of her shoes, indeed more than one
person thought so as she passed up the
street; and the old general, who was out
for his usual morning trot, stopped in hie
walk, and wheeling round stood to look
after her till ate had turned the corner
and was out of eight, when he went on
with his self-impoeed sentry.go, wishing
with all his heart he was forty years
younger.
Meantime Dorothy went serenely on her
way, reached the shop for which she was
bound, and there made her purchases, all
email enough for her to bring them away
in a neat little parcel in her unoccupied
hand. And then, just as she stepped off
the door step of the shop on to the pave.
went, she suddenly found herself fate to
face with David Stevenson.
If it had been possible, she would have
retreated bank into the shop; but it was
too late for that. David Stevenson had
already uttered an exclamation of surpise,
and was standing clow in front of her,
bolding out both his hands to her.
Now, if there was one person in all the
wide world whom Dorothy would rather
not have seen just then, that person was
David Stevenson. I think she looked all
the dismay which she felt, and that she
felt all and perhaps more than the dismay
which she looked,
"Oh 1 is that you 1" she gasped.
David let his hands, with their glad wel-
come, drop instantly.
You're not very glad to see me. Dore.
thy ?" he said,'fn quiet but bitter reproaoh.
"D -that is, you startled me," she re-
turned, in a wild endeavor to put off any
questions he might think proper to ask of
her.
Evidently," he said, dryly, "and you
want to get rid of me, eh?"
" Oh, not at all ;" biting her lip and wish-
ing that she could sink into the ground or
dissolve into thin air, anywhere out of the
way of his hard and steely -blue eyes, which
seemed to look her through and through,
and to know in a moment all the aeoreta of
her life.
"No? Ah 1 that is better. Then, since
you don't want to get rid of me all in a
burry, perhaps you will let me walk a lit.
tle way with you. May 1?"
"Oh, yes, certainly ?" said Dorothy, giv
hag herself up for lost at once.
"Do you live near here?" he asked, as
she turned toward Palace Mansions.
At that moment there was a slight block
on the pavement of the always busy street,
and just as Davidapoke, Dorothy perceived
that the sweet-faced lady who lived on the
floor above her, was also blocked, and stood
for a moment or so face to face with her.
Undoubtedly she had heard David's gees.
tionjust as Dorothy had done,and undoubt-
edly Dorothy bad never seen her eyes so
cold or her lipase austerely shut before. In
her distress and annoyance at being thus
apparently caught, Dorothy blushed a vivid
guilty crimson—a fact upon which the
sweet-faced lady put the usual construction
to which all highly moral persons seem to
jump at once'ie a moment of doubt—that is
the very worst construction possible.
" Can you give me no news from home,
];hen?" Dorothy asked, in a desperate voice
raised far above her usual tones.
David looked down at her in surprise—
an involuntary motion which was not lost
upon the lady who was still unable to pass
i ea.
"News?" he repeated. "Why, of course
I can. I have so much news to tell you that
I hardly know where to begin, Let me see
-Lady Jane is bask, of course."
Dorothy turned her head in time to see
that the lady had passed on and was out of
ear -shot before David had begun his news.
There, just like David's stupidity to be
, too late. Why, she wondered, irritably,
could he not have happened to say some-
bing which would have let that woman up.
stairs know that they had known eaoh other
all their lives ? But no, David had always
blundered whenever and wherever she was
conceroed, and she supposed thathe always
would. Her interest in the home news was
gone, lost in the depths of her annoyance,
but she listened patiently till he had ex.
hammed that topic, till she bad heard who
was married and who was dead, of a fire
in snob a one's brickyard, and of a barn
belonging to another which had been
struck by lightning.
Then he told her how he had improved
the Hall—her perfect old home, which in
her mind needed improvement of no kind
—how he had puts smart, capable garden•
er in to bring the place into real good
condition—
' And old Isaac 7" said Dorothy, fierce-
- ly
Oh 1 he is still about ; 1 shouldn't
turn any old servant of yours off, yon
know. There are plenty of odd jobs for
him about the plane."
What sort of odd jobs 7" demanded
Dorothy.
"Oh, weeding and toddling about pick-
ing up stones and—and doing odd jobs
generally, answered David, who was
beginning to get rather uncomfortable
under the fire in her truthful eyes and the
terrible directness of her questions.
"In fact, you have made Isaac under
ling,''laborer, alavey to your grand new
gardener, is that it 7 she Dried.
"Oh, come now I" he began, but Dorm
thy stood still in the road and confronted
bim angrily.
" Is it ao (g,not 7" she asked.
"Well, something like that," he admit.
ted, unwfilingly.
"Is It abeotutely so or not?" Dorothy
asked again,
Well, l'tn afraid it is," said David;with
a great alt of making a clean breast of the
whole matter. "You see, Dorothy, the old
fellow never was much of a hand at gar.
dening---'
He was good , enough for lag," sighed
Dorothy, in a heartbroken voice,
" Yea ; but, indeed,, he really was peat
his work, or 1 should never have thought
of displacing him. And if it hadn't been
for you—that be was a good many years
your gardener----"
"Nearly forty years," put in Dorothy.
"'.yell, of course, if it hadn't been for
that I should just have replaced him with.
out troubling any further about him. As it
i,,
was, 1 made a place for him and I gIve bier
ten abitlinge a week for what 1 could get
better done by a boy for six.
"And the cottage ? asked she..
+' Olt, well, of oouree, the cottage goes
with the situation, answered David, who
was getting rather sulky.
Thorn was a moment's Silence ; then
Dorothy suddenly stopped and turned to
face him. "David," site flashed one, "yon
may be a good farmer, but you are a hard
man, a hard man 1 One of these days you'll
some to be—but, there, whet is the good
of talking to you? If long and faithful
service will not touch your heart, what else
will 7"
"There is sae thing which will always
have power to touch my heart" he said,
eagerly. Shall I tell you what 70
" No," said Dorothy, wearily, I pro-
bably ehould net believe you. If forty
years would not do it, nothing alae
could,"
As she spoke she turned down the street
which led to Palace Mansions, for she saw
that it was hopeleae now to try to prevent
hie finding out where ohs lived; and, in-
deed, now that Diok was safely out of the
country, eke did not think that it mattered
much. David, for hie part, took advantage
of the quiet side street, and spoke out what
waa in his mind. •
" Dorothy," he said, "oome bank to the
Hall, and I will show you whether I em a
hard man or not; only come bank and let us
forget the past, nobody need know any.
thing, I will never remind you of it. Only
come back, my dear, and everything shall
be as you wish—as you direct. I'll send the
new gardner to Holroyd, and Imago anall
be head•gardenee at the Hall, with a couple
of men under him to do the work. Does
that sound like being hard, Dorothy 7"
"Yes," said Dorothy, ooldly—"hardeet
of all, because you would not hesitate to
buy mo, body and soul, through my coin•
passion and pity for those poor,unfortunate
ones, who cannot help themselves, and
cannot fight against the hard power which
your money and your strength gives you."
"Ob 1 Dorothy, it is not so, he cried
"I only ask you to come back because I
love you and I want you. Tha old pines
wants you, and I hunger for you. Be -
stelae, I cannot bear to see yon as you
look now—tired and worn, and ten years
older than when you turned your bank on
all your old friends for the sake of a fellow
who has brought you to this,
" To what?" Dorothy cried, her eyes
opening wide and her tones expressing
such astonishment that David fairly quailed
before her look.
" To a ghost of your old self," he
answered curtly. But is was all of no usq.
Dorothy could be curt, too on occasions,
and she was so then.
" It seems to me that you are making
mistakes all round, David," she said
coldly: " I am not very well, and the
heat has tried me—but I am not what you
take me for. I have been, thank God for
it, a blessedly happy wife for many
months. I will wish you good morning,
David."
She turned away without giving him time
to say a word, and went as quickly as was
passible toward her home, and went in
without turning her head to see what had
become of him. As for David Stevenson,
he simply stood rooted to the spot where
she had left him, until she disappeared
from his sight ; then he took a step or two
es if to follow her, but changed his mind
and retraced his steps, with a face like a
thunder -cloud.
He was so occupied with his own thoughts
and his own disappointment that he never
noticed a smart victoria and pair which
was drawn up just within the corner of the
quiet street, butits occupant, an old,white-
haired gentleman, had noticed him, and
took keen stock of had
as he passed. David
Stevenson would have been considerably
surprised if he could have heard "the order
which the same old gentleman gave to his
coachman just after he had swung past,
"Follow that gentleman closely, Don't
lose eight of him."
"Yee, m' lord," said the servant, and
hopped up into the box, giving the order to
the coachman.
All right," murmured that dignitary in
reply ; " than added in a lower voice still,
"What's the old codger up to now, I won-
der 7''
' Uncommonly pretty girl," answered
Charles, in an equally low tone. " We've
been after her some time."
" Who is she ?"
"Mrs. 'Arris. Lives in Palace Mansions,"
with a wink.
"H'm, I wishes her joy of'im," said the
coachman, screwing up his face into athou.
sand expressive wrinkles.
"Me, too," said the footman,eniggering.
"Hi, he's going into the park," whereat
the coaohman turned his horses in at
Prince's Gate also,and they drove in abreast
of David Stevenson, who was lookingno
more at, peace with the world or with im-
self than he bad been when he turned into
the High street, out of the quiet road in
which Palace Mansions may be found.
"Still faithful to Master Dick, or else
the new -comer not attractive enough."
thought Lord Alymer with a sneer, as he
gave a sharp, keen look at the tall young
[non's lowering face.
CHAPTER VI.
HOPE DEAD.
I think that David Stevenson had never
been in auoh a towering rage in his life ad
when he turned in at the park gates and
went swinging along in the direction of the
Arohillea. For during those few moments
when he watched her after she left him and
before she disappeared into Palace Man -
alone, he had realized that she had gone
from him forever. He realized that
whether she was aotualiy married or not,
she was not for hien, and he had auddenly
become aware, almost without knowing
why, that there wee a cause for her altered
looks; a cause which would be forever a
bar tothe fond hopes whiolr he had cher-
Wed daring nearly all hie life, certainly
ever since Dorothy as a wee, toddling,
saft•eyed child had come, fatherless; and
motherless, to be the light and life of the
old Hall and the very joy of Mies Dime•
dale's lonely hearth.
So that fellow had got round her, after
all—hle bitter thoughts ran, as be strode
along—and all the worship and devotion of
his life had been flung aside as naught for
the oaks of a specious tongue and a swag-
gering, army sort of manner.
As a matter of fact, Dick had not the
very smallest shade of a swagger about
him, but David Stevenson was the
kind of a man who invariably' judges every
man by a type, and to him an army man
who turned his toes out a good deal more
than was necessary and said "haw" be.
torten every three worda he 'peke. That
the man who had stolen ,Dorothy's love
from him did neither of these Mingo made
110 diterenoe to. David's conception of him,
P l
TEE 13RU83] Lt8 :'OST,
He had stolen Dorothy from Min, and that Barbara sat down beeido her and took'
her into her arms, ao that she might lay
her head upon the old eervsnb's ample
breast and cry her heart•aohe away,.
"Miss Dorothy, dear," she Maid*,,. presently
ourioaity getting the boot of her at last,
"did David Stevoneon dire to tell you that
you waan't married?"
Not in so many words, Barbara," Dorothy
answered, sittingup now and drying her
flushed face, "ut he uskod pie to go
book and marry him," with unutterable
contempt, "and he would show me what
love meant --:he that turned my old friend
out of his place direobly Auntie died .and he
said something about my turning my bank
on alt my friends for the sake of a fellow
who had brought me to this."
"David Stevenson all over," remarked
Barbara, dryly. "But, my dear young
mistress, you didn't let him go awaythink•
ing what he had said was true 7"
I told trim I had been, marriedfor
menthe," Dorothy replied, "and when I
had just said 'Good morning' in a tone of
lee, and I walked straight in without even
-wondered how men and women could looking athim again."
bear to orawl;up and down in line, fretting "And he saw you come in here?" Barbara
their fine Morose into a fever and never Dried:
wes enough to mals David endow him in
his own mind with all the most hateful
attributes of Ms detestable oleos„
Nor did he even.etop to oapaider that he
was dietiaotly unjeeb rn crediting Harvie
with stealing Dorothy's love from him.
For ib is impossible to steal from any
woman what that mon bad never had to
lose, and most emphatically he had never
posseesed even one little octant of Dorothy
Strade's heart; to be plain, Dorothy had
Always detested him.
For an hour or more David strode about
the park till the atorm of fury which pos.
sassed] nim had eoinewhat calmed down,
and always the smart victoria with BA pair
of high-stepping, fiery horses and its pair
of wooden-faood, imperturbable servants to
their white and arimeon liveries dogged tie
steps and kept him airly fn sight ; and 'op
lase David nobioed them.
"Damn that auperoi;ious old brute," he
muttered, as they passed him for the twen-
tieth time ; then he stood at the railings a
minute or so and thought how slow it was
getting beyond a foot's pace.
He turned away from the Row into a
aide path, but the next moment he saw
that the smart victoria had turned into
that road also.
Cofound
he m he must be
thought, irritably, "and yet what
ole,"
should he want to watch me for? Oh,.
hal__gg it, I'll go home 1"
Without a moment's heeitation he burn-
ed his steps towards Apsley House and
made his way out ab the big gates, where
he hailed a cab and gave the man the
address of his hotel, and forgot about the
white-haired old gentleman in the smart
victoria.
But the victoria was there, nevertheless,
following immediately behind the modest
cab ; and when David got out and went
into the Grand Hotel, Lord Aylmer called
to the footman :
Charles, I want you to take a message.
Baker, stop.'
Baker pulled up the horses beside the
broad pavement, and Oharlea got down to
hear his lord's orders.
"Go into the Grand and find out that
gentleman's name—don't mention mine."
"Yes, m' lord," said Charles.
Now, Charles happened to be an ingenious
youth who was not troubled with any nice
eoruples about his honor, and believed that
the easiest way was invariably the beat
way. He therefore, seoura in the halo which
his smart white and crimson livery was
enough to oast around him, went into the
hotel and addressed himself to the stately
house porter of the eetablfahment
"I nay, porter," said he, "my maater,the
'book of Middlesex wawnte to know the
name of a gentlemen just come' in—came in
a 'aneom—tall, fairish chap, looks litre e
country gentleman."
" D'ye mean that one ?" said the house
porter, taking Charles to a glass door lead-
ing to the reading'room and pointing out
David.
"Yes, that's the one," Charles answered..
"Oh, yes; that's Mr. David Stevenson,of
Holroyd," said the house porter.
"And where ia Holroyd?"
"A metier two from Harwich," answered
the other. "At least, I heard him say so
last night. His post•town is Harwich. '
"Ah 1 yes—thanks. The Dook fanoied he
knee him, but 1 fanny he was mistook.
Good day to you porter."
" Good day to you, my fine cock -pheas-
ant," returned the big house porter, con-
temptuously; but• Charles had already
reached the door and was going back serene
in the power of his own impudence, to
impart the information which he bad
gathered to his master.
"The gentleman's name is Stevenson, my
lord," he said. "Mr, David Stevenson, of
Holroyd, Harwich."
"Ah, yes," and then the old savage pull-
ed out his note -book and jotted the same
down,wichoutoominent. "How did yon find
out 7" -
"I said my master, the Dook of 'Middle-
sex, wished to know, n i he fancied he
knew the gentleman Charles answered,
promptly.
Lord Alymer buret ou laughing. "Ah 1
very clever—very clever. Home."
"Tee, in' lord,' oaid Charles.
Lord Aylmer laughed more than once on
the way home. He was so intensely emus•
ed at the inventive genius displayed by
Charles, whom he had not before credited
with much sharpness of that kind. He was
a man who never took Lha trouble to make
subterfuges to his eervanta ; if he wanted a
bit of information, he simply told one of
them to get it, without caring what means
were taken or giving any reason for wanting
it. For instance, he would never say, "Go
and flnd out who that gentleman ie," and
add, as ninety•nino out of a hundred would
do, "I think that I know him." No, he
never troubled to do that ; it was simply
after the manner of the Centurion, "Go and
find out who that is."
But he was greatly tinkled by Charles's
'remarks, and more than once on the
way home repeated to himself with a
chuckle, " Dook of 1111ddlesex 1 I must
encourage Charles a little. 'Pon my soul,
uncommonly neat—Dook of Middlesex 1"
Meantime I must confess that Dorothy
had gone home in what Barbara was an
austomed to call " a boiling passion," Bar-
bara happened to be coming across the lit-
tle hall when she let herself in at the front
door. " Mies Dorothy—my dear, what is
it 7" the old servant oried, her heart jump•
ing fairly into her mouth as a dreadful
idea flashed into her mind that her young
mistress's hour was come.
" Barbara,"said Dorothy,in a voice shak-
ing with passion," I take bank everything
that I have ever said in defence of David
Stevenson—every word."
" What 1 have you seen him 7" ,tried Bar -
bare.
lased to feel," Dorothy went on, in the
same trembling tones, and without taking.
the emalleat notice of Barbara's. question,
" very sorry that I oould never fall in with
Anntie'a wishes concerning him. And
then after Auntie got so fond of my Diok,
I wasn't sorry ou Auntie's account any
longer, but I wae sorry for David, because
1 thought oiroumatancos had been a little
hard for him, so I have stood up for him
with all of you. But, you were all right, and
1 take back now everword that ever I
have acid in hie favor."
Barbara drew her into the pretty draw-
ing -room. "Sit down, my dear young
mistress," she said, tenderly, "and tell me
all about it."
So Dorothy eat down on the sofa and
told Barbara everything about her meeting
with David—what he had said and what
she had maid; what ho had looked and whet
she had felt; how he had turned old Isaac
out of hia plane and pita grand newfangled
gardener to be isaao's master at the Hall;
and finally; bow he asked her togo bank
and the pant would beforgotten, and lie
had insinuated, --nay, had told her plainly
but no, Dorothy's composure did net
hold out long enough for to tell that part of
her story, for wben she reached that point
oho gave way and broke down into violent
sobbing,
"Yes," Dorothy answered. "How could
I help it ?" • '
"No, I aupposenotlbut, depend on it, he
will go gabbling book to Graveleigh and
set her ladyship and all the rest of thorn on
to you."
"Never mind if he does," Dorothy cried.
"But you wanted to keep it dark, my
dear," Barbara reminded her.
"Yes; but it doesn't matter now that
Dioli ie gone," Dorothy replied, "And,
any way, Esther will be here, and Esther
will be able to ward off everybody and
keep them from asking me t000loaelyabout
anything. I only hope that David Stevan.
son won't try to force his way in here before
Esther comes."
"What would be the good ?" Barbara
asked. "You told him you were married."
"Yee, but he didn't look a bit as if he
believed me," Dorothy returned.
"Then just let him come here and try it.
on," oried Barbara, valiantly, and really,as
she stood there, a stout and comfortable
figure with her arms akimbo,ehe looked
more than a match for any ordinary man,
and nobody would have believed, except
such as knew her well, how utterly her
courage always deserted her at a critical
moment. "Let him try Hon, that's all. I
can give him a. bit of information he won't
find very much to his liking --1 can tell his
high andmightiness that I see you married
with•my own eyes."
But David Stevenson stood in need for
no auoh information; he had not believed
that Dorothy was married—she was right
enough there. Still, he had realized at
last that elle was not for hint, and that
afternoon, while he was idly turning over
the papers in the reading -room of the
hotel and wishing himself with all his
heart down at Holroyd,it suddenly oeourred
to him that if Dorothy really was married,
he would be able to get evidence of the fact
by walking down the street and spending
an hour and half a crown at Somerset
House.
And there, sure enough, he found the
record that was the death -blow of his last
little feeble hope—the record of the mar-
riage between Riohard Harris, bachelor,
and Dorothy Strode, spinster, bearing a
date now a little more than nine months
old.
"Barbara Potter, witness," read David
to himself between his teeth, then clenched
his hand, hard as it rested upon his knee,
so that the glove which covered it was
buret in several pieces, "Oonfound that
old woman 1 She must have hada hand in
it of course."
Then he put the great book bank upon
the table and strode along the empty echo-
ing corrid"ore and across the great gloomy
quadrangle, into the busy street Aftera
moment's hesitation, caused by the noise
and throng of the street, he made up hie,
mind.
"Hang it all 1 what's the good of stopping
here, eating my heart out ? I'll go back
home; I cha'n't feel it so badly there,"
(TO DE CONTINUED. ) .
HYMN OF TRUST.
O love divine, that stooped to share
Our sharpest pang, our bitterest tear,
On Thee we cast each earth -born care;'
We smile at pain while Thouart near.
Though long the weary way we. tread,
And sorrow crown each lingering
year,
No path we shun, no darkness dread,
Our hearts still whispering, "Thou
'are near."
When drooping pleasures. turn to grief,'
And trembling #aith is changed to
fear,
The murmuring wind, the quivering
leaf,
Shall softly tell us, "Thou art near."
On Thee we fling our burdening woe,
O Love Devine, forever dear ;
Content to suffer while we know,
Living and dying, Thou are near,
—Holmes.
A Suspected Incendiary Fire.
A despatch from Midland, Mioh., says:
—Mr, and Mrs. Frank Hale were burned
LO death at 8 o'clock on Sunday morning.
There are mysterious oiroumatannes aur -
rounding the tragedy,
ur-roundingthetragedy, The couple moved
into a new house on Saturday night. They
were buoy unpacking goods until a late
hour, but finally retired with the rest of
the family after seening that the fires and
everything else were in a safe condition.
They awoke to find the house in flames,.
and were ao hemmed in that escape was
impossible, and they died in great agony.
Tha children were rescued, Neighbours
say the fire was incendiary.
Stub Ends of Thought.
Most people who oast their bread upon
the watere expeot it to return to thein as
pie.
Duty ia disagreeable.
Women ought to learn that matrimony
was never intended as salvation for men.
Dishonesty is constant in its appeal that
Justice be tempered with Meroy.
When a woman knows she is well dressed,
it is diffionit to ruffle her tamper.
Prosperity makes more fools than adver.
city dodo.
We need sorrow as the flowers need night.
The poorer the man, the richer hie,imag.
notion.
Unutterable.
Do you not sometimes have soulful yearn.
ings which you long to convey in words,
but eon nob? asked the sentimental girl.
Yea, indeed, replied the young man, I
wasonce dreadfully anxious to send home
for money and I didn't have the price of a
telegram,
Elder Chidley, of Stanfordvillo, Now
York, has eceepted the pastorate of the
Ohriettan ahuroh at Newmarket, '
AGRICULTURAL
Ceoling Milk in the Well,
The sketch herewith shows a simple:and
eu000selui creamery that any farmer 000
,with a little expense oonetruob, writes a
praptioal farmer, The first thing required
ie a well of good adze in diameter and of
pool water. I made the experiment early
last spring by banging the cane in the wen
and was so well satisfied with the results I
made the needed arrangement for hoisting
and lowering . the Dane by use of a crank
which acv be attached to each roller. Three
oans are all Wet are needed in my creamery,
eaoh one holding a milking, which:allows
rIG. 1.
36 home for each setting. The Dane should
have covers to keep out dirt and insects,
but not be airtight, and oan be made to
hold a larger quantity where more cows are
kept, but should be about three times the
height of the diameter, with the space be
tween the curb floor and the case roller to
allow the can to pass freely through. The
aketoh is ao simple it seems unnecessary
to explain its construction. One point
to be kept in mind ia to 'see that the
cans are not set too deep in rainy
weather as the water may rise and overturn
the milk. Snaps are used on the ends of the
rope to attach the oan, as seen in Fig 1.
The Dover df the oaee is so made that when
closed it slants back to shed rain. The
front piece isee Fig. 2) is detachable and
sets in ao that when closed it can be looked
With a padlock. •A1,
who have seen ie
think highly of it as
it is a creamery
without the nee of
ice, which is expen•
Sive to have and a
great deal of work
to use. On one ou.
eaeion in market I . Fro. 2.
met a man who has used a creamery for
manyyears and who thought it would pay
him co dig a well purposely instead of
using ice. Setting of milk in walls is So
common that this device ought to be gener•
ally used by farmers.
The Guernseys.
So far sa breeding livestock is concerned,
every farmer is a law to himself ; but it ie
not soin any other line of his work, writes
Silas Bette. For grain or vegetables or
fruits, he studies to produce that which
will be beat suited for the purpose, realiz.
ing that in this lies his success or failure in
the race for profit The law of develop-
ment may be slower in the animal than in
other ]lues, but it is no legs certain. Each
breed inherits the essential qualities which
distinguish it from other breeds, and eaoh
animal from every other. The breeding
problem is to recognize the desirable of
these qualities and intensify them, and to
eliminate those that are undesirable. I
have worked at this for twentyfour years,.
and not one-half of my hopes have been.
realized.
We should each form an ideal, and, since
it is difficult, if not impossible, to realize
our hopes, drop the non -essentials. The
essentials are a good constitution., A cow
with this will he found a good feeder, and
it should be inherited from a long line of
ancestors. In size, 900 pounds should be
the lowest limit. Economical production
should be, say, 6,000 to 8,000 pounds of
milk per annum, with a peroentege of not
leas than 5 per cent of butter fat. Such a
cow, whether it have a short or a long tail;
have horns inourved or turned out;; a black.
nose or a white one, or has hair of red or
orange, should bo honored as a foundation
cow, and no inducement should part her
from her home as long as the breeding
herd remained there. A bull, eon ofmodel
cow of another herd, should be retained so
long as the get appears topossees the essen.
Bel qualities of the foundation cow, and I
would use such even to imbreeding rather
than risk a violent oroee. Success lies in
a degree of close breeding, while the Som.
monplace is the result of continual out-
crossing.
Occasional good may Dome from poor
quality, but reversion is apt to follow be.
cause of propotenoy. Tho habitof diaplaa.
ing bulls every year or two is due bo p'sj u.
dine. A reservoir cannot contain pure
water if fed by a thousand rivulets, half of
them foul, When ancestry is normal the
offspring will be normal; with an imperfect
knowledge of the material the result mast
remain uncertain. Those who have thought
out their inethode have worked out the boat
results.
The horse breeder who narrowed his put,
poses to speed achieved most wonderful
results; he went for speed and got it. We
are after milk and butter, and shall get it
when we )reap to rational linos. Oa the
island there are 'many grades of merit in
breeding. Some select the best, and have
the best to show for it; others have sought
cheaper methods, and, consequently, have
inferior. stook. Rovereion is eaaier than the
acquisition of good qualities; hence, the
breeding of poor quality ie easiest. The
greater the oroee the wider the divergence.
We found the Guernseys we first reoaly
ed from the island ao superior we desired
more; then the demand was so groat we
were
more;
to part with many, and some.
times with our boat. Moderate-sized herds
of Guernseys ore, therefore, numerous, but
large herds rare. Many of the old roads of
our breeding aro full of deep pipped, and
avfAx , iso
when we must rebuild lett it be ippon the
Macadam plan of good, solid foundation, el
How Duch Butter .Can Igo Made
'From Milk,
Time dues not permit me to go into de"
tails 19 show]' the reason, but much ['wadi..
gation Sas demonstrated the fad that for
each pound of fat in milk one should make
about one and one -eighths pounds or one
pound two ounoea of butter. To find out
new much butter should be made from 100
pounds of mtlk,multiply the per eant.offalt
in
milk by one and one•eighbb, Icorexample
From 100 pounds o£' milk containing 3 per
gent, of fat, we ehould make about three
pounds six ounces of butter; from 100
pounds of milk containing 4 per cent. of fab,
four and ops -half pounds of butter; from .
000 pounds 5 por sent. milk,flve pounds ten
ounces of butter, eta. Suppose, in making
butter, we get more or lase than the calcu-
lated yield, How shall we explain this'?
If, leas than the calculated amount of butter
is made, the decrease must he due to one or
both of two causes. Firat,excessive loss of
fat in skim milk and buttermilk; and,
second, the working or preening out of too
much water. 1f more butter is ;nada than
the rule calla for, then it is due to the fact
that more than a fair amount of moisture
has been left in the butter, caused by un-
favorable conditions of churning, or by
insufficient working. These facts enable
the butter -maker to find out whether he is
making mistakes in his work, and whether
he is getting the best results in butter
yield.
IN LABRADOR'S WILDS.
A Yost Extent or Territory that Invites.
the Explorer and Naturalist,.
The summary report has just been pub -
Balled by the Imperial Government of the
exploratory survey of the Low. Eaton ex-
pedition of 1894 through the interior of
Labrador. The personal adventures of the
exploring party went the rounds of the
press upon its return, some months ago,
but the details of its geographical and
other discoveries, as compuleory with office
isle of the Geographical Survey, have been
kept secret, pending theirofficial publi-
cation.
The expedition travelled on foot and by
oanoe,about 5,660 miles, through a coun-
try containing about 500,000 square miles,
which is shown by its report to be by no
means "the land of Cain" that it was.
formerly supposed to be, Except at the
scattered Hudson Bay ports, civilized men
were never met by the explorers, and most
of the territory was traversed for the fdret
time by scientific explorers, The reading
of the report leaves no. doubt that outside
of Africa and the sub•Arotic regions of this
continent, searchers after travellers' ad-
ventures can find no equal enemas) of
virgin territory to operate in.
The natural attractions of Labrador are
among the grandest on the continent. The
Ungava River rune through twenty miles.
of a crooked valley, with parpeadioular,
rocky walla rising 1,000 feet above its
waters. On the Hamilton River the banks
are 700 feet high, below Grand Falls. Be-
fore taking the plunge the river ruehea
down an incline of 200 feet in four miles,
and then throws itself over a precipice 30U
feet deep into the gorge below.
Lake Winakapow ie 416 feet deep. In
every direction the streams broaden out
into lakes, often studded with islands.
Lake Miohikamow is as large as Mistassini
about which a faw years ago so mnoh fuse
was made.
As a result of the exploration, the courses
of the Ungava and Hamilton rivere, here-
tofore only outlined on the authority of
very unreliable Indian reports, are now ,
accurately defined. The face of the map of
Labrador has been altogether changed and
very materially added, to.
Much also that is new is learned of the
climate, which, judging from the trees and
plants, does not differ materially from por-
tions of northern Quebec under cultivation.
Along the Ungava and Hamilton rivere
there are areas where the forest trees,
white, black, and balsam spruce and biroh,
are at considerable mercantile value, being
twentyfour inches in diainater. There are
also great areas which have been denuded
by fires.
On the Ungava and Hamilton, too, there
are bedded in the rooks immense masses of
iron ore, the amount seen, to use the words
of the report, " running up to millions of
tons," Most curious geologicalfeatures
were also observed, the great ice drifts
leaving produced singular displacements,
perohiog great boulders on the very sum-
mits of rocky hills sometimes in such pool-
tions that a push would displace them. The
whole country will prove a perfect para.
dies for such fisbarmen as have the leisure
and means to penetrate into it, for the
scientific and therefore truthful explorer
testifies that during the Bummer of 1894
hie party lived almost exclusively on,,fish
caught in nets, set at night and taken in
in the morning, where brook trout seven
pounds, in weight, and enormous lake
trout, whitefish, pike, and land -locked
salmon were everywhere.
Tragedies the Banks.
A frightful increase in the number of,
drowning accidents upon the Banks of
Newfoundland is reported this year, the
victims being principally French fishermen
from the islands of Sa Pierre and Miquelon.
Theae poor people fish in the very channel
of branaatlantin steamships, wheat: lookouts
have no difficulty in clear weather in seeing
the email fishing, amaoks and keeping out
of - the way of injuring them. But the
fishing is meet successfully prceeouted in
dark or foggy weather, or between 8 o'oloek
at night and 4 i the morning, the cense.
(pence being that large numbrre of these
small (leaf aro rub downand their ocou.
pante drowned. Instead of being taught
by experience to avoid the course of steam.
ships, especially in foggy 'weather, the
fishermen of the little French oolong have
entered upon an agitation to have the
steamships keep out of their ` way and
change their route, They are anxious, it
appears, to have the French Government
memorialize the Governments of other
maritime powers to compel boson steam•
sliipe to pass seine distance south of the
Grand Banks of Newfoundland, although
their course would thus be materially
lengthened.
Dewey Dave (reading]- "Willis, wot'9 d
decade 7' Wandering Willie--" Hold on
dere, cord! 'Ver gettin' personal,"